


Blue, Blue, Blue Christmas

by Naoe



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Blue Christmas, Christmas, Christmas Eve, Christmas Party, Domestic Castiel/Dean Winchester, Gross fluffy ending, Lonely Castiel, M/M, Married Destiel, Pining Castiel, SPN Holiday Mixtape, Snow, for my military families waiting at home, forced socialization, marine!Dean, sappy endings are my thing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-04
Updated: 2016-12-04
Packaged: 2018-09-01 09:57:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8619949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Naoe/pseuds/Naoe
Summary: Cas hates being forced to his parents' house for the holidays. It just makes his loneliness sink in even deeper. All he wants is his deployed husband and some peace and quiet. And maybe some relief from the blue-tinted snow that reminds him how alone he is for the holidays.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Ok so this is my first Holiday Mixtape. It ends sappy af so don't fret too much. [Here's the song it's inspired on, although I'm not that big of a fan of Lady Antebellum, I just... did it](https://youtu.be/X_zuRUWG0OI). Ha.
> 
> Sue me. I like sappy af. It makes me feel better.
> 
> Shout out to Shipperslist and StKirsch for having my back on this as usual. I actually cranked this out pdq!
> 
> Finally, I live in a military/college town, but I have not served nor have I had a family member actively serve in the Marines that know of. Army, yes. Navy, yes. Air Force, yes. Marines? Not that I'm aware, although my Dad's family is huge on military service. So I don't know about their tours except that they tend to serve the forward combat areas, and I'm told there are tours of 7 months on, 1 year off, depending on the unit. Well, basically I want to say I mean no disrespect, so if I made a mistake, please tell me and I will correct it.

 

Cas hated the holidays.

The music in the background of his parents' Christmas party was depressingly chipper, as were all the red and green decorations that festooned the halls, not to mention the people with ugly Christmas sweaters and Santa caps and women with tiny, jolly sleigh bells hanging from their ears. Even the red decorations on the Christmas tree looked more like blood droplets from the snow white angel sitting on top than festive as intended.

Or, at least, to Cas’s distinctly black and grim point-of-view, they did.

He was sick of hearing about angels singing, drummer boys, and if Bing Crosby sang about silver bells or white Christmases one. more. time…well, Cas decided he was not going to be responsible for his actions.

After all, he was trying to—at the very least—maintain his sanity, even if his embodiment of the holiday spirit was currently somewhere in the Middle East, most likely in a fire fight, and unlikely to be thinking about egg nog and rocking around the Christmas tree.

Alone, Cas stood next to the [punch bowl](http://www.marthastewart.com/316360/christmas-punch), ignoring what was left of the spread of holiday cookies and goodies his parents had set out and the additions from the neighbors for the neighborhood Christmas party. The plates had already been thoroughly picked over by this time of the evening, nothing but tiny crumbs and a veggie platter left to wilt near the end, where someone had shoved it behind a fruitcake that hadn’t been touched either.

Cas didn’t mind that he was standing alone right now. He was, actually, enjoying it since he didn’t have to pretend everything was alright and he was genuinely happy to be here. Cas took a deep breath, the air heavy with pine and cinnamon scents, and scowled. He was holding his now-warm cup of punch and twisting the gold wedding band on his left hand anxiously.  
  
This was the third Christmas in a row that Dean had not been able to attend. It made him blue just thinking about him, since Cas was doing alright with his family and even a small snowstorm, while Dean was probably out trying not to get shot.

The problem was Cas's parents always forced him to come to holidays at theirs so that he wasn't left sitting alone with just his Boston terrier, Meg, and his TV for the evening. But really, he would have preferred that to pretending to be happy in the company of so many curious and pitying eyes.

They all knew why he was alone and that in itself was annoying.  
  
The windows were already frosty with the bustling, building snowstorm outside. Nearby, his parents were entertaining the Miltons with the stories of their last anniversary vacation to Italy. The gang of neighborhood kids were playing with the Wii U Gabriel had brought with him, gleefully beating each other up at MarioKart, and even Gabe was wrapped around his fiancée Kali on the couch. Cas considered taking a picture of them cuddling since it was so rare for them not to be fighting.  
  
Here and there were groups of cousins and neighbors enjoying the homey atmosphere of the Novak two-story home: the bright stockings lining the fireplace; the cross-stitch pillows of old Ives and Currier prints; the glowing, gift-wrapped pile of small gifts for the White Elephant Exchange sitting under the heavily decked tree; while the much younger children—too young to be enraptured by video games—played with colored blocks or lay napping in a small playpen under everyone’s eyes.  
  
One and all were laughing and chatting—except Cas, who was thinking about Dean's last Skype call two months ago, right before he had headed back out into the madness of the Afghanistan front again. The signal being weak where Dean was, it had been a short call. He had looked worn, his chin scruffy, a bit of black powder on his cheek, but so happy to see Cas. Meanwhile, Cas had been dismayed by the new scars across Dean face, especially the large one on his forehead, still red and jagged through his left eyebrow and into his hairline.

Shrapnel, Dean had explained, touching it self-consciously. He was aware of how many scars he had and how many he kept adding.

Because of that, Cas had reassured him that it made him look rather dashing, causing Dean to blush and his freckles to stand out, to Cas’s delight.

So although he still worried about Dean, he knew he'd be careful because he wanted to come back to Cas.

But that already had been months ago with no word since.  
  
Here and now, alone among so many celebrating families and couples, Cas cursed himself for loving and marrying a military man.

Eyeing the small pods of people, so many wide grins, he swallowed his bitterness. He didn’t even know if Dean were alive or dead this Christmas Eve. This was surely hell.  
  
Cas saw his cousin Balthazar giving him a concerned look, and excusing himself from the group of young mothers he had gathered for his entertainment, trying to make his way over to where he was standing.

But Cas wasn't feeling up to talking to Balthazar tonight. It was the 24th, and without word of Dean from either the source or the State Department, he was feeling the sting of loneliness and grief more than he thought he would after two Christmases alone. He fundamentally didn’t understand why Dean would keep taking new tours (or why they were extending his tours), although he suspected John was somehow behind it. 

Dean never asked Cas if it was okay to do it; he just kept doing it. Just thinking about that had Cas just wanting to go home, curl up with his dog, and feel the burn of longing and anger. 

He just wanted Dean to **_come home_** for good.

Cas quickly moved from the table, aware Balthazar was behind him, and made his way upstairs, slipping past anyone who looked like they _might_ want to speak to him.

The sound of music still floated upstairs insistently, but he opened the door with a hard click and flung himself inside, shutting the door behind him firmly, and taking a moment with his back pressed against the wood to breathe. 

His old bedroom was just as he had last seen it at Thanksgiving, when he had again hidden upstairs from the happy mood, trying to keep his spirits up. It was where Cas started to keep items to calm him at times when he missed Dean the most, a collection of things from early in their relationship, when it was new and the future theirs. Things like the album of when he and Dean had started dating in high school, photos of their happy grins and lanky, hugging frames. So many of Cas in the old trench coat he had adored and Dean in the leather coat his Dad had given him. 

The shelves still held the trophies he had won for math and science, while Dean had given him his trophy for all-state basketball, another photo of a sweaty Dean kissing Cas after their victory right next to it. Their graduation photo, with a very young Sam squished between them in the photo, Dean throwing up a peace sign while Cas was staring at him fondly. Their prom pics, his favorite with Dean awkward and gorgeous in his ‘monkey suit,’ while Cas laughed, his head thrown back at Dean being so disgruntled, his left hand gripping Dean’s hand on his hip as they posed. 

All things he had kept here to be a solace to his soul, because his parents _insisted_ he come for the holidays rather than be alone. 

They ignored the fact he _wanted_ to be alone because he missed Dean. Dean who was off in some sandy land fighting instead of home with Cas, eating turkey, mashed potatoes, and so much pie. How he could eat pie...

Cas couldn’t even look at a pie anymore. Not without his stomach clenching and his heart threatening to break in his chest. What if Dean never came home? What if he _did_ come home and didn’t want Cas anymore? What if what if _what if?_ The question ate into his brain and security about their relationship and Dean’s love for him. How many people came back from the front changed and unable to settle back into their old lives? How many divorces?

Four tours were hard on a man. Four _extended_ tours at the front as a _marine_ were even harder, always on the ground fighting in forward combat areas. Cas was unable to move nearer to Dean's main base thanks to his own job but also because Dean had to attend a lot of special training that _also_ took him away more often than most. It was only when Dean took time off, when they went on vacation, that Cas got to catalog all of the new wounds and battle scars Dean had accumilated. 

In all that time, however, Dean had been lucky he had only been hospitalized for minor things that never permenantly kept him out of action. But not that it mattered: he kept going back because it was the family business. Saving people, keeping the US secure, and joining the Corps. OOH-RAH!

Now, Cas was sitting through another painfully lonely Christmas, as Dean's tours (especially the extentions) inevitably seemed to overlap the holidays. He stared out his bedroom window as the snowflakes outside floating down in ephemeral blue flecks of ice. It reminded him of their their first kiss as Juniors in high school, under the blue light of an IHOP sign, with Cas’s back pressed against the Impala as Dean’s cold fingers had traced his chapped lips before gently kissing him. Their first kiss had tasted of coffee and blueberry pancakes. 

Thoughts like that were why Cas just wanted to sit in the dark, ignoring the muffled sounds of celebration through his old bedroom door, and remembering better Christmas days. 

Of course, things didn’t go to plan. They rarely did for him.

After situating himself on the (somewhat dusty) bed, the snow piling up outside the window lending a blue-white glow to the room, the door popped open behind him. 

“You can’t hide here every holiday, Cassy.” 

Cas looked up at Balthazar, silhouetted by the bright light of the hall, and tried to hold in the disappointed sigh that his solitude had been broken. 

“It’s worked so far,” Cas replied, his hand stroking over the worn album. 

“Sure it has,” Balthazar retorted, “Just look at you. Happy as a clam, you are.” 

Cas picked at one of the bright green and blue construction paper stars he had glued to the edges of the album’s cover with a fingernail, the front of the album decorated in small drawings and a photo in the middle, framed by silver and blue glitter like their school colors, or craft-store herpes as Dean liked to call it. He had teased Cas about using it, but they had ended up tumbling backward on Cas’s bed when the teasing had shifted into flirting, Dean’s hands all over Cas’s 17-year-old body, still lithe and not yet bulked in the shoulders and legs like it eventually would be. Dean’s lean waist and the dip in his back that rounded into his young, athletic ass were smooth playgrounds for Cas’s hands. The feel of rutting against each other, both satisfied with what they had now. Neither wanting to push sex. They had time. They knew it. 

After, they had had to shower and, as Dean had foretold, Cas had been picking glitter out of his bed for months after. 

Had that really been almost ten years ago now? 

“I just miss him,” Cas mumbled, running his right hand over his face, and eventually covering his nose and mouth. In the dim light from the hallway, Cas’s wedding band seemed to mock him, glinting faintly. 

He swiped at his eyes with his right hand and ran his agitated fingers through his hair. “You can’t understand how much this is killing me, just saying I'll wait here then while he’s out playing hero! He's out fighting his way through Hell, and I have to _wait_  . I _always_ have to wait.” 

“At least he comes back,” Balthazar murmured, moving to sit next to Cas, rubbing Cas’s shoulder comfortingly with his palm. “He’ll always come back to you. He’ll always find a way.” 

“I wonder.”

Companionably, they sat in the dark until they heard the normal noise levels shattered by the sound of a new arrival and many squeals of delight. Balthazar squinted towards the doorway, curious, but Cas ignored it to wrestle with his fears. It was, he thought, like [Jacob wrestling the angel](http://biblehub.com/asv/genesis/32.htm). He had to keep his faith.

Gabriel, however, burst through the open door, steadying himself with his hands on the doorway, panting slightly with having run up the stairs, and gasped out, “Castiel, you need to come down!” 

Blinking, Cas uttered, “W-what?” 

Gabriel growled impatiently and grabbed Cas’s hand, dragging him up off the bed and shoving Balthazar onto the carpet.

Ignoring Balthazar’s indignant “HEY!” Gabriel dragged Cas down the stairs. 

Cas had a moment to take in the crowd of people around the end of the entrance and then the doorbell rang again.

Gabriel grinned at his cousin, backing off to take Kali’s hand, as Cas suspiciously squinted at him. Gabriel made a shooing motion with his hand, and even Cas’s parents were holding each other with barely concealed excitement.

The doorbell rang a third time (somehow sounding impatient), and, hesitantly, Cas opened the door.

There, standing in a foot of snow, wearing his heavy canvas coat, a green and blue scarf Cas had knitted him in college, was a pleased and smiling Dean. His hair was catching snowflakes, as were his long lashes, and he looked almost bashful as he stood there.

“Uh, hi Cas,” he said awkwardly, waving at him. “I, uh, wanted to surprise you but I guess I should’ve told yo—“

Cas slammed the door shut and stared at it blindly.

Behind him, he heard a small uproar of disapproval, but he ignored it. There was a faint knock at the door, and a soft, “Cas? Are you mad?”

Fury ripped through Cas as he yanked the door open, stepping onto the snow-covered porch, not feeling the cold despite the fact he was just in a dress shirt and a Christmas sweater Dean had given him years ago with a portrait of Rudolf the Red Nose Reindeer and the words “Dare to be Different” stitched brightly into the dark blue yarn underneath.

He pointed at Dean and punctuated his words by poking him in the chest for emphasis. “Why. Didn’t. You. **Call**. Me. You. **_Assbutt_**!”

“I wanted it to be a surprise?” Dean replied uncertainly, looking a bit frightened.

Here was a man who had faced terrorists, bombs, gunfire, and more, and he was standing in front of his husband in fear.

Cas just didn’t have it in him to stay angry. “You’re still in the doghouse,” he muttered, reaching out to hug his love, who slipped his arms around him too.

“You smell like gingerbread and cloves,” Dean murmured into the curve of Cas’s neck.

“You smell like you haven’t showered in a while,” Cas replied, backing up to stare into Dean’s somewhat offended expression.

“I was _trying_ to get back to you,” he grumped, gesturing at his BDUs and combat boots. “I totally jumped the first plane headed in this direction, and then practically had to track down and steal a taxi to get here in this weather.”

“Then remind me why I keep waiting,” Cas countered, looking up at him through his lashes.

Dean smirked, eyes brimming with love and relief. “C’mere you.”

Dean pulled him in and the kiss was everything that Cas remembered: the addicting taste of Dean, overlaid by coffee and possibly donuts. The feel of warm, hard arms around him, lifting him up at the waist and trying to pull him closer. The smell of Dean in his nose, the leather and gunpowder scents that clung to him.

“Merry Christmas, Cas,” Dean murmured against Cas’s lips. “Guess what? I got an extra special gift for you.” He pulled Cas in closer to whisper in his ear, “That was my last tour.”

“Seriously?” Cas pulled back to stare into Dean’s eyes, his gaze darting over the multitude of small scars that were nearly as numerous as the freckles on his face. The large, pink scar that bisected his eyebrow was still ugly, but at least it had missed Dean’s eye. Thank god, it had missed his beautiful eye.

As if reading his mind, Dean smiled crookedly and nodded. “Seriously. I promise.”

Relief shot through Cas and he kissed Dean again, chastely, feeling the love he had had to tamp down to survive without his husband flow again like a released spring.

Cas vaguely remembered there were people behind them in the doorway, and he somewhat heard the sniffling and sound of tears.

But he didn’t care. He didn’t care.

He had everything he ever wanted for Christmas right here.

 

THE END


End file.
